Sunday, July 31, 2011

Ahhhh, these just make me giggle every time I see them. Me and Q, we can do 18 holes in less than 30 minutes. Probably because, for him, it's more like *hockey with obstacles*. ﻿ I'm not knocking his style, though, because lil dude beats me every single time.

The golf ball is just a round puck. The club, a miniature stick...

He shoots, he scores!!

There's no walking on this green.

You should hear his *rules*. No wonder he wins. I gotta think me up some rules that give me an edge

Saturday, July 30, 2011

We've had a really super crappy summer so far this year. I can count the number of sunny days we've had on one hand. It's been horribly depressing, actually. And my tan. Well, it's been so crummy and cloudy that I had to resort to a fake tan in order to look uh...healthy?

My brother and I decided to take Q to the water slides today. For those of you who remember this *water slide* incident will realize how big this was. We were all a little nervous, I think. But dude, we have Disneyland under our belts...we can get through anything. Water slides are a cinch after California Screamin' and Space Mountain, right? Right!

I'm a tad overweight. You know ever since the whole *no smoking* thing (nine months last Saturday. Holla!) I've become a bit chunky monkey. It's something I'm...dealing...with. But I figured that everyone looks better with a tan, right? It hides all the imperfections, gives you a healthy glow. Last night I do the whole exfoliation, moisturize, spray tan ritual. It takes forever. And you have to walk around naked until the spray tan dries. In an attempt to speed that process up, and to avoid walking around the house naked while everyone was home (can you say 'awkward'?) I thought it was a fabulous idea to blow dry my skin. Then I moisturized again. Only, evidently the tan hadn't dried yet. But I didn't know that. And then I went to bed.

This morning I woke up the shade of orange. Pumpkin orange. And my feet and hands kind of glowed they were so orange. It kind of clashed with my blue nail polish too. So instead of being a whitish beluga whale, I was a bit more of a pumpkin.

Anyways, this isn't even the point of my post today if you can even believe that, I've gone on such a tangent.

Being a people watcher is an amazing way to pass the time. I could seriously lose hours of my life just watching other people. It is just so interesting to me. So here I was dipping my orange toes with blue nail polish in the hot tub at the water park, watching those around me. This is what I noticed...no one has a perfect body. Not one person. Not one. Everyone has cellulite or jigglies here or there. And as I watched everyone walk by this way or that, I noticed that every woman was uncomfortable with her body. Whether they had big boobies or small boobies, long legs, or a big bum, every woman tried to cover something.

It made me upset. Models are made up. They're airbrushed. They're not real. We've started looking at these woman as an image of perfection when really they're fake. What we have - our thighs, our stretchmarks, our wrinkles - they're real. They tell a story. A story of the life we've lived.

And it got me thinking about how incredible our bodies really are. Right now, as I sit here and type my fingers have memorized every key on the keyboard. That's pretty incredible in itself. However, my body also is building new cells as the old ones die off. My body automatically knows that it needs to breathe in, and I do it without even thinking! Amazing! I blink so my eyes don't dry out. Brilliant! I have veins that carry my oxygenated blood to every last inch of my body. No part is insignificant...not even my baby toe gets forgotten. I have a skeletal frame that supports my body and I can walk to the fridge to get another beer.

I may have a few extra pounds on me. You might have a few hang ups of your own. But I'd encourage you to think, just for five minutes, about all the amazing things your body can do. The things that you take for granted. I mean, dude, I grew a 10lb baby in me. That's the story those stretch marks tell. What story does your body tell? Forget the baggage, forget the drama.

And another thing I noticed. Men have no hang ups. These dudes are walking around with the ugliest toes ever with no second thought about it what-so-ever, as if they've never heard of pedicures. They've got these guts hanging out and they're strutting around like they're Brad Pitt. I saw the harriest backs ever. We're going out and paying hundreds of dollars to get rid of hairy legs and arm pits, and there are guys out there with enough back hair to make a toupee.

And we're the ones with body issues?

What's wrong with that, girl??

Oh, and Q did marvelously well. We went on the scary black water slide that even I freaked out on!! Uncle S had to do a little *talkin' mommy through it* as we waited on the stairs. All in all, it was a day I won't soon forget.

Friday, July 29, 2011

Sleep training a 7 year old is just as tiring as sleep training a 7 month old, and only just a little bit more frustrating. Or maybe a whole lot more frustrating, because holy moly guys, he's 7. And you think that you can rationalize with a 7 year old in a way you cannot with a 7 month old. You think you can talk them into sleeping alone, and talk away all the fears and such. But you can't. Then you start to get all angry with yourself because, sigh...you could have done this seven years ago and then you wouldn't be doing it now.

I haven't slept through the night since Q has started sleeping in his own bed. Well, that's not entirely true. I slept through the night last night, but that's because I was so completely exhausted that I fell asleep in Q's bed with him at 9 pm and didn't wake up until 6 am this morning when I had to pee really, really bad. But before last night, I hadn't slept through the night since this whole *experience* began.

I think it's harder on me than it is on him.

He either calls for me or crawls in with me every night. The other night, he called for me and I was in a deep deep sleep, dreaming about talking to an employee and all of the sudden he starts calling me, "Mommy" and I start to get all weirded out and then he says it louder, "Mommy!!" and that one wakes me up...

And I'm all sleeping with one eye open, every sneeze, every move, every breath I listen for, hoping he's sleeping and sleeping soundly.

Then, just when we start to make some progress - he goes to his daddy's and we get to start all over again.

I always say that I need at least 9 hours of sleep in order to be beautiful...so man, I'm gonna be an ugly momma pretty soon. All *this* does not just happen. My sanity also hinges on sleep. And I'm sure that's not just an exaggeration...

Then I wake up every night and reach for his little hand...and he's not there.

Monday, July 25, 2011

Let me explain, I didn't cave. We're just going to ease our way into it...nice and trauma (drama) free. Or as drama free as possible - given the situation. I have what I consider to be insurmountable odds against me - his father. Q gets dropped off last night and his dad asks where his room is. Q points to a window on the west side of the house and his dad starts going on about how hot it's going to be sleeping in that room tonight. To be clear...it is the middle of the summer, and all the rooms are hot. All the rooms also have a fan and drapes...and why am I even trying to defend myself? He looked at me like I was doing this horrible thing, making Q sleep in a room that was hot in the summer time. I glared at him and thanked him for his support. This is my problem. Every time Q comes home, it's like starting over. Evidently, his daddy is pulling what I like to call a *Michael Jackson* and reliving his childhood with/thru Q. Anyways, his dad leaves in a huff because I'm teaching my child to have wings and independence. And let me tell you, it's not easy.

Yesterday, in order to prepare myself for the big event, I scoured over Internet articles on kids' sleeping patterns, how to get them to sleep on their own, why he might be fearful of sleeping on his own, etc. By the end of the afternoon, I had convinced myself that Q had both GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder) and SAD (Separation Anxiety Disorder)...but in retrospect, I think that's just me. I have those...not Q...I had huge anxiety about this.

About half an hour before bed, he started getting really panicky (me too...) We started a routine of having a snack, brushing his teeth, picking a book to read. Seeing as how it was his first night, I told him I would stay with him til he fell asleep. So, the little bugger stayed awake until 10:30pm. At one point he said it was okay for me to leave, but came running into my room not even five minutes later saying he felt very sick and thought he was going to throw up. So I went back and cuddled with him until he fell asleep.

Then I lay in my bed listening for any little murmur or whimper or anything to indicate my little man was missing me. My bed was empty. Until sometime in the middle of the night when he crawled in with me. I figured I would let him the first night anyways.

So, how did we (I) get through this?

- I kept telling Q how proud I was of him for being brave, yes (but didn't want to stress that too much because I didn't want him to think there was anything scary he needed to be brave for.) I emphasised how I was happy he was growing up into a big boy, instead of telling him I missed my baby. I read somewhere that this is huge...some kids feel guilty for *growing up* because parents continually talk about losing their *baby*. I've been guilty of this a time or two.

- I spoke in a calm voice. I didn't want him to pick up on my worries, so I spoke in a low, even tone and didn't raise my voice when he got *active* instead of *drowsy*. Whether he was starting to cry or brushing his teeth, my mood remained constant so as to reassure him that nothing was going to change.

- We spent time together before going to bed. We played a game of Rummy-O (not too wild and crazy...) and scrabble (can you spell RAT, HIS...and not keep score....I know, super difficult for me too!!!) But it was calming and we still got the mommy and Q time together.

- I gave him breathing techniques and told him about my *happy place* - the beach on a hot, hot day with soft, warm sand and cool, blue water. Then asked him to think about his - playing a soccer game when they're winning. This technique totally works. If I'm in the middle of a panic attack, I can literally feel my heart rate slow down as I imagine my happy place.

- We started on some cognitive awareness, which he didn't even really know. But when I was first diagnosed with depression and anxiety, I did cognitive awareness therapy and it's a really helpful tool for rationalizing your fears. In teaching him how to deal with these feelings now, my hope is that he will have honed in on this skill by the time he's an adult and is required to make decisions (sometimes worrisome).

- I gave him a flashlight. I know, simple. right? But it gives him control over something. If he wants it lighter or darker, he gets to make the choice.

- Comfort items...George his monkey, Sweetie his bird, and Baby his blanket surrounded him on his first night....alone...

It's a work in progress. I know he's ready for it though (well, that's the debate...isn't it? Most moms are sleep training their babies at 7 months, not 7 years...but I'm not the first to have a family bed...and I'm sure I won't be the last) he's been saying he needs *me* time...which I'm pretty sure he gets from *me*. He has a journal he writes in, he wrote..."i get to sleep in my own bed. it will be fun." I'm not sure if he was trying reverse psychology, but he kept saying things like..."Oh, and if I can't sleep and it's like 11:00 at night, I can turn my light on and read my book" or "if I wake up in the middle of the night, I can play with my toys while you're still sleeping." Well, fill your boots son. As long as you don't wake me up, we're good.

Tonight he's sleeping at his dads. You know what that means, right? I get to start over at the very beginning...all. over. again. Yay. I can't wait.

Any tips to helping your kids sleep on their own and through the night? Because let me tell ya, there's not much about the subject on the Internet....unless they're trying to diagnose some sort of sleep disorder.

Friday, July 22, 2011

So, my kid. He's a good kid. Really, he is. I've been lucky. He adapted really quite well to being a only child to parents who live in different households. It's gotta be tough on him, not knowing or remembering who's house he's sleeping at because it changes daily. In our mind, it's fairly standard....Sunday, Monday, Thursday, Friday nights he is with Mommy and the rest of the time he's with Daddy. But for Q, it's here and there and here and there. He's way more resilient than I give him credit for. It always breaks my heart a little when he asks, "Where am I sleeping tonight, Mommy?"

The thought of one week here and one week there breaks my heart. I can't even imagine not seeing him for a whole week. As difficult as it would be for me, I think it would be hard on him too.

He doesn't have brothers or sisters who *understand* what it's like to be shuttled back and forth from home to home. No one to commiserate with and talk about how much it sucks when so-and-so happens. I try to get him to talk about how he feels but he just shrugs his shoulders and says, "I don't know." What he probably means is "you wouldn't understand". And I don't. I know where I'm sleeping every night. It's the same bed in the same house every single night. I know where I'm eating dinner, where I'm spending my weekend. I know this. It's standard. For him, it changes all the time.

For this reason, I've been really lenient with Q. We eat dinner on the couch more than the dinner table. We go on dates to the movies or bowling more than most kids his age. And, he sleeps with me.

Yup.

I know.

It started as a coping mechanism when he was a baby so I could get some flippin' sleep and then one thing led to another and through all the uncertainty, it was certain. His little hand on my face, the even sound of his breathing (and snoring...), the elbow in my back, the heel dug into my thigh. What can I say...it's not always fun sharing the bed with a bed-hog seven year old, but it is comforting.

So I get that he has to sleep in his own bed, and I get that it has to happen soon. We've been looking for beds, have his room all set up...just waiting for a bed.

But...

We've been having a whole lot of troubling behaviour lately. The most upsetting was last night when he didn't get his way, so he wound up and punched me in the back of the head (closed fist) while I was driving. Immediately when we got home, I threw him in his room and called his dad. Q is supposed to be going to a B.C. Lions' football game on his birthday and I thought taking that away would be a perfect punishment.

His dad (the retard) says we need to sit down and talk about his behaviour and what we can do to change it. I'm like, dude...we don't need to sit down and discuss anything. We need to take something away from him. I don't need a pow wow with you, I need you to help me discipline him. He didn't think that punishing him was the *right* thing to do and he needed to *think* about it. He says to me, "See. This is why I'm sending him down the street to play with these other kids. They're so well behaved and they're teaching Q how to behave." I'm like, dude....it's not the kid down the street's responsibility to teach our child how to behave. It's OURS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So I hang up on his dad. (We remember I'm PMS-ing, right???? Ya.)

I go talk to Q. I settle on no bunny rabbit, no iPhone for two weeks, and no Lego Ninjagos. HE was more upset with the punishment than the fact that he had punched me. But I've read two things recently about this...1. Boys get a surge of testosterone when they're two and when they're seven. My girlfriends son started talking like he was Rambo when he turned two..."I STUBBED MY TOE. I'M THIRSTY. I WANT SOME MILK." It was hilarious. I think Q is going through a surge of testosterone and doesn't really know how to deal constructively with the aggression that comes with it. Secondly, children do not get *empathy* until they are well into the age of 7. They don't understand that their actions affect how other people feel. They don't understand the concept.

So, I have to move Q into his own bed. I have to teach him boundaries. I have to teach him is actions have consequences. I have to discipline when ding dong in the other house has no intentions of supporting me. He wants to be the fun parent, the parent who says, "Don't do that, k?" and gets results. Basically, I'm a lone enforcer. He goes to daddy's, does what he likes - comes home and gets mean mommy. He said that to me...You are a mean, mean mommy.

Here's the lesson, kids. Before you procreate with anyone, make sure you have similar ideas on parenting. It makes it SOOOOOO much easier. If you can actually test your theories out on other people's kids...even better. Mr. Ex agreed with me on every parenting ideal until we actually had a child. Then he didn't want to parent at all. He just wants to be Disneyland daddy. So test 'em out. Make sure they walk the walk. Make sure they're not bluffing.

In the meantime....any words of advice? Can anyone relate? Misery loves company so if your babes are acting out too, I'd love to hear about it...and even more, I'd love to hear how you're coping.

Here's a great read. I'm going to go through all my boxes, find it and read it again....

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

- Talked myself out of giving the finger to the guy tailgating me when I was going 40km over the speed limit.

- Talked myself out of slamming on the breaks so the guy behind me would have to swerve into the ditch to avoid hitting me, because he was tailgating me even though I was going 40km over the speed limit. (I think it's important to remember he was in the wrong here.)

- Refrained from *un* following a blog, because all she blogs about now is one endorsement or the other, and it's so forced and phony. Like "you know what I like about jewelry? when it's shiny, cheap and doesn't tarnish. speaking of shiny, cheap jewelry...have you ever heard of..." (oh, don't worry...she doesn't read my lil ol' blog, so I'm not talkin' bout any of you!) I started following her blog, because she was a single mom like me, and us single momma's have got to stick together. I also refrained from telling her why I was unfollowing her. I figured a) she wasn't going to miss one of her 750 followers and b) what I had to say would probably be more hurtful than constructive.

Can you tell what time of the month it is????

Side note: You guys! I tell you everything!!! I ran into a co-worker the other day who says to me, "I'm really glad you're blogging again..." He's a guy. I was kinda like, "Wow, dude...you know way too much about me!!!"

You know what else I did?

- I gave blood. Because evidently, the 12 pints of blood I'm going to lose in the next 5-7 days isn't enough. And because it's the easiest way, in my mind, to be a super hero and save a life. I'm O-, which if you didn't know, is the universal donor. Every body likes my blood. It kind of sucks, though when you're carrying an O+ baby, and your body thinks it needs to attack this foreign *body* and thus builds up anti-bodies to any future child you might have. Thank God for modern medicine, is all I gotta say, because none of that actually happened, but it could have...that's just the kind of mood I'm in right now. Blood. It's in you to give. Cool tag line, right? But it's true, and it's relatively quick...I was pissed that a guy came in and left while I sat there. Apparently, men have bigger veins. That's what the nurse said, anyways. I think that's why men don't get periods and have children. They'd all bleed to death because their veins are so damn big.

- I filled out a form to be a Bone Marrow Transplant-er(?) Through Facebook, I found out that friends of the family have a little girl who has just been diagnosed with Leukemia. This is after she already fought (and won!!) a long battle with cancer. I haven't spoken to them in years and years and so sending them a message on Facebook saying, "Hi, how are you? So sad about your daughter..." just seemed so phony and disrespectful.

Coincidentally, I just read an article in my Marie Claire Magazine about this woman who added her name to the growing list of people who are registering their genetic make up with banks across the world in an attempt to fight the big C. I signed up through OneMatch which is here in Canada through the Canadian Blood Services, but in the USA you can go to getswabbed.org. The article totally demystifies the horror stories we've heard in the past about Doctor's drilling into your bone and sucking out your marrow. Whether or not they've done that in the past, I don't know, but now, it's as easy as giving blood. A little longer (6 hours) and painful (meds for 5 days beforehand to build up your white blood count), but if you can give blood, you can give marrow. To get your name on the list, a swab on a Q-tip. Could saving a life be any easier? I mean, I don't want preach at you or any thing. Just consider it.

Consider it.

Consider it for my friend's daughter. Consider it for a child you've never laid eyes on. Consider it for the child that might be yours one day. I cannot imagine anything worse than losing a child or a loved one, and I just feel so strongly about how easy this really is.

Monday, July 18, 2011

I'm Type A in a lazy woman's body. It's so unfair. I really, really want to be uber-organized, but I'm just too lazy.

Take, for instance, last week when I defaulted on a car insurance payment all because I wasn't really paying attention to my finances. If I had just taken the time to organize my money situation, I wouldn't have had to pay the $60.00 NSF fee in addition to the $30.00 penalty from ICBC. That was a painful $90.00 mistake.

And I mostly have Q's babysitting schedule in my head, but I'm not going to lie...there has been a time or two when I found myself in a right state because I had no idea where my child was. Thankfully, he was safe and sound with my Mother, and even more thankfully, it's not happened yet that he's been left to fend for himself. I'm pretty sure that *not being organized* is not an excuse that Child Services would consider appropriate.

In my house, everything has its place...however it is seldom put there. If I just put my keys on the friggen hook by the front door every time I came in, I would never have to run around my house in a panic five minutes after I had to leave for work. The hook is there. I put it there myself. I've even walked into it a time or two (really, super painful!) but nine times out of ten there are no keys on it. I like it when I keep them in my coat pocket from two days ago. Then it's really fun trying to find them.

Oh, how I would love it if I had the presence of mind to make my coffee the night before and then program it to come on just as I wake up. How great would it be if I actually had an hour and fifteen minutes to get ready for work, instead of hitting the snooze button three times and then rushing to get ready in 40 minutes with no coffee. An hour and fifteen would surely give me five minutes to listen to the traffic report before I left home, so I didn't have to spend 25 minutes in a traffic jam - thus rendering me 10 minutes late for work.

Imagine, telling Q it's time to have a bath, because it's Tuesday night at 7:30pm and that's what we do at 7:30pm on a Tuesday- it's written down in the planner - instead of saying, "Ew...dude...you stink. When was the last time you had a bath?"

If only...

*sigh*

So, I'm in Chapters the other evening and they have a "Mom's Agenda". As I'm Type A deep, deep down, I find that I'm always drawn to these type of organizational masterpieces, and I flip through it like I've just discovered the Holy Grail. It's amazing. It' has spots for 'Mom' and then spots for 'Child 1', 'Child 2' and so-forth. It's got month at a glance, and then it breaks it down even further. My brain was spinning with the sheer organizational genius of it all.

it's so pretty. look at the little butterflies...

I flipped to the back of the agenda, and found pages dedicated to various things you'd possibly wish to organize. I kind of snorted when I saw the page for 'Wines' as I thought it was a little overkill. Who's organized enough to write down their favourite wines? Me? I'm in and out of the liquor store in less than 10 minutes. If it's under 10 bucks and it's a 3 on the sweet scale, we're good. Who needs to write that down? And the page for e-mails and passwords and bank accounts and passwords? Well, it's brilliant if you're never going to misplace your agenda...but if you're like me, we're hooped if we've written all that shit down. Although...you can't really steal money from me if I have none, right? Try buying a house under my name with my credit, fool. We'll see who's laughing at the end of that bank appointment. It could just be that I'm super jealous that people are just that organized, tho. That might be why I'm hating on the wine list.

I'm going to ponder whether or not I'm mature enough for this agenda, whether it's worth the $19.95. Maybe I kind of like being unorganized to a certain degree. It's freeing in an odd sort of way...and it's an awesome excuse for everything, "Oh silly me, I forgot we put speed limits out there for a reason, Mr. Policeman...I'm just so scatterbrained. Just let me write that down for the next time. Oh, can I borrow that pen? Thanks, you're a doll!"

One thing I will never, ever relent on is winning. I always have to win. It's just in my blood and it's the only Type A tendency that I will not ignore. Just ask my brother. I am in it to win it. I'm like Monica from Friends. Don't try to cheat...I will hunt. you. down. Don't try making up words in Scrabble. I was going to be an English Major in University. I know when words aren't really words. And the whole..."oh, I just need to check the dictionary to see if this word is really a word"...that doesn't fool me one bit mister. You have no idea what word you're looking for, you just hope one jumps out at you.

Sunday, July 17, 2011

I have found a flaw with my beloved iPhone 4. I know it's shocking, but it's true. It is stealing hours of my time. More accurately, hours and hours and hours of my time...wasted by a stupid phone. Okay, wait...I'm sorry. It is not a stupid phone. I regretted the words as soon as they came out. I love my phone.

But...

Between the apps - oh, the apps!!! Scrabble! Angry Birds! Tap Zoo! Sudoku! Chuzzle! Unblock Me! -and the instant access to Facebook, my e-mail, texting and the fabulous World Wide Web, I can (and have) spend countless hours (a whole afternoon...gone!) on my phone. These are hours I can never, ever get back. Not only time, but embarrassingly enough I have spent money (!) building a fake zoo. And I'm not even a gamer! I've never understood the draw, until now. I can't even remember the last time I spoke to someone on the phone. If I can't say it in a text, why bother? If I can't say it in a text, but really should - I send an e-mail. I can't even watch t.v. anymore without one eye on my phone.

That is...unless my child has stolen my phone and is playing one of his games on it. I had to change the password the other day, because he's hacked it twice and he uses it almost to the exclusion of all his other "toys". The little love dismisses any phone calls I might receive because it's interrupting his game. It has become the source of more than one argument between the two of us...because he always wants more...one more app, one more hour, one more second. "Just Wait" have become his two most favourite words.

I haven't read a book in 6 months. That's horrible. I have two books that I really, really want to read. It just so happens they're both coming out as movies...although, I wanted to read them before I knew they were movies. Well more accurately...I wanted to read them after I found out they were being made into movies, but before they actually were...Water for Elephants and The Help. (The Help, by the way has been toted as "one of the most important pieces of fiction since 'To Kill A Mockingbird'." *Gasp*) I have both in my possession...and they both remain untouched and a little dusty.

It is embarrassing the hold this phone has on us. And I can't really get mad at my child, he's just following the lead I've forged. I'm addicted. It's an addiction - an illness, really. I don't think we can be held accountable for our actions.

Okay, for real...I'm gonna make a resolution. I'm going to put the phone down. I'm going to use the phone asa phone. I know this is totally revolutionary and a little scary. But I'm going to do it. I'm going to read a book. I'm going to blog more often. I'm going to live my life instead of merely watching others live theirs. I'm going to set an example for my son, and here's the bummer for him...he's not gonna be able to use it, either. Well, let's not go completely crazy, right? I'll give him a time limit....it is a wonderful babysitter when mommy needs a few *me* minutes.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

For seven years, I have carried this fear around deep inside of me and there was only one thing that I knew for sure was that I would never, ever, ever have another baby e-ver. As if having a 10lb, 6 oz baby with a head that was 14" in diameter who's cord got stuck around his neck doesn't sound horrible enough...this all happened to a hypochondriac, anxiety ridden worrier who was all alone in a new city. Oh, wait...I forgot 'Type A' - dude, I would feed my baby before he was hungry, change him before he was dirty...all in an attempt to be the perfect mommy with the perfect baby, who never cried. Talk about setting high standards for yourself, huh?

For seven years, I have cringed every time I heard a newborn baby cry, every time I saw the baby department in any store. Mostly because every sound brought back these horrible memories of me, thinking I was going crazy, terrified I might hurt my baby, afraid of myself and for myself. A horrible single thought that you then obsess over minute after minute, hour after hour, until you've convinced yourself that you're not fit to be a parent. I think I coped by separating myself from that person's memories and that person's baby and for years have had a difficult time associating my son with the baby I had seven years ago.

The other day I picked Q up from his dad's house. Q wanted to show me something in his bedroom, and so I followed him into the room I painted for him years ago when he was just born. It's a boy's room now and no longer a baby's but in the corner of the room was a box. I knew that box. That box was mine. Inside were memories I've long disassociated myself from. For some reason, I needed that box. At home, I took the lid off and found the least scariest things ever...baby booties, sleepers, pictures, the outfit I brought my baby home in, socks - the tiniest little socks you ever did see!

For the first time in seven long years, the contents of that box didn't scare me. In fact, I was overwhelmed with this sense of calm and peace. And longing.

Longing for a second chance.

I don't know if this is what *they* call a ticking biological clock, but man I want another baby. I want the chance to do it without feelings of fear or inadequacy. I want to breathe in every single moment (with the exception of the smelly ones). I want to hold my baby confident in the knowledge that I won't throw them down the stairs and that the only intentions for my little one are pure.

And this time, I want to do it right. I want to find a nice man, a supportive partner, and a team mate. If it happens to be the same person, that will be super cool. If I need three different men, well I'll take that too...hahaha. I'm gonna get married and then have a baby. What a novel idea, huh? A little old fashioned I know, but I think I'll give it a try. If it doesn't happen, I'm okay with that too. I have a beautiful child whom I love with all my heart. The whole point is that I'm not afraid anymore.

Monday, July 11, 2011

Eight and a half years ago I was in a car accident. It was New Years day at 5 am, I was at a stop sign and some drunk driver behind me did not see the stop sign nor me in my lil VW Golf and knocked me clear across two lanes of highway and into a ditch. What do you think I did? I went into total supervisor mode and supervised the situation. I flagged down a car, got them to call the police and an ambulance (for me), got all the information from the driver who kept trying to leave the scene...

So the police showed up and the ambulance showed up. They took one look at my poor little car, told me to stop moving and strapped me to a body board. What do you think I did then? I totally freaked out. My neck started to tingle and went all cold and I started hyperventilating, begging them to not let me die, telling them to check for internal bleeding from the seat belt. (It was so embarrassing when I ran into them at a coffee shop a few weeks later....let's just say that...) Anyways, at the hospital they ran all the tests, found no broken bones and sent me on my way with some amazing pain killers (when taken with wine made t.v. super entertaining, to say the least. I think my roommate walked in on me talking to a donkey on the television.

I tried physio, I tried acupuncture, I tried exercises. And they all worked for a while, but then as soon as I stopped, the pain came back. My doctor recommended a chiropractor along with massage therapy, and I fell in love with both my doctor and my RMT, which was kind of weird, because they were both women. But whatever. My pain was gone. My headaches were gone. I felt amazing.

Fast forward eight years. I haven't been to a chiropractor for eight years. One thing just led to another, one day into the next and before I knew it...eight years had gone by.

I could barely move. It hurt when I would breathe, my shoulders burned and tingled and went numb. About a month and a half ago, I went to the chiropractor out of sheer desperation and fell in love all over again. It's a little weird this time, because he was Mr. Ex's roommate in college and they're still good friends. So I will say this, I love Dr. Dave but I'm not in love with him. And he does that, he calls himself 'Dr. Dave' like all the time. Even when me and Mr. Ex were together, he'd call and say, "Hey guys, it's Dr. Dave here..." Whatever. I don't care. I will call him whatever he wants me to if he takes my pain away.

He explains all this stuff about our spines and necks and vertibrates to me. It's just so interesting. Did you know that Chiropractic started over a hundred years ago when a man went to see one when he went deaf. His hearing came back and all these deaf people started going thinking it was a cure for hearing loss. Of course, it wasn't - but all these patients started feeling better in other ways, and kept going because of all the benefits. It's like healing from within. Since I've started going, I haven't had one IBS (Irritable Bowl Syndrome) episode. I haven't had a head ache since we've been 'meeting'. He tells me stuff about my body - which also sounds really kind of weird, doesn't it? Even weirder still, I love listening to it.

Right now, we're working on my left hip joint (remember that since I've been to a chiropractor last, I've also had a 10lb, 6oz baby....) that hurts all the way down my leg. He massaged my ass for 10 minutes today while asking why I think my relationship didn't work. And now my ass really, really hurts. I have an inner ass injury, which I understand could also sound like I have hemorrhoids, so it's even more funny to me. It makes me laugh. I just think I'm so funny. I am milking this for all it's worth. He told me not to exercise it and just let it heal...well, gee...o-kay! I was really looking forward to my work out tonight...He also told me to avoid stairs. Sadly, my mother refuses to carry me up the stairs to my bedroom. I guess healing my injury is not as important to her as it is to me and Dr. Dave.

Anyways, if you have pain anywhere...go see a chiropractor. Let your body heal itself. It's amazing what our bodies are capable of doing. Being pain free is incredible (even if my left ass cheek really, really hurts right now. I think I might have bruises...) If you live anywhere near Langley, BC and you need a chiropractor, go see Dr. Dave. Tell him I sent you (no, really. Tell him...I think it gets me a free visit.) 604-575-7007. Your body will thank you.

Did you know your head weighs 12 lbs? On that poor neck? Stand up straight!!! When you do, your neck curves and acts like a spring to support all that heavy, heavy brain matter - thus alleviating neck and shoulder pain. I know, like super interesting, right?

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

I'm sorry folks. I think I have blogger's block. I can't think of anything to say that hasn't already been said or that isn't so completely boring you'll just stop reading.

Like I could have blogged about the horrible riot that Vancouver experienced at the end of the Stanley Cup final. I watched, disgusted, as young white males destroyed the streets I walked every day for three years on my way to work. Did you see the post office in the background? Behind the burning pick-up truck? That was my home away from home. But then the next day, hundreds upon hundreds of volunteers came out to clean up Vancouver, and write inspirational messages on the plywood they had used to board up all the smashed windows. And that's what we're really all about. Not the stupid asses who drank too much and followed the crowd. But isn't that what we all thought?

Or I could blog about my incessant fighting with my son. But do you really want to read...

Me: Q, Go To BED

Q: No

Me: Don't say No to me.

Q: Why? You're not the boss of me. I'm the boss of me.

Me: I don't think so. GO to sleep.

Q: I'm not tired.

Me: Close your eyes.

Q: No.

Me: What did you say?

Q: I'm not tired. I don't want to go to sleep

Me: Stop talking, close your eyes and go to sleep.

Q: I'm hot.

See? NO, no you don't want to read about that and how it happens every single day. Insert unhappy face here :(

Or I could tell you all about how all my employees are back to work and it's business as usual and that one employee said to me today (seriously, even...) "C, you are our root and we are your branches!" But then I'd just be bragging and so that's not very nice (or like me, at all...right?)

Told ya. It's the same old thing.

Any guy I find that I'm attracted to either doesn't know I exist or knows I exist but doesn't care. I play these movie-like scenarios about how we'll eventually start dating, but THEY. NEVER. HAPPEN. And then I get all sad and bummed out and get all dramatic and think, "I'm never going to fall in love with anyone ever, ever again!!!!!" Which is probably a really good thing because I don't want all the *relationship* stuff. I just want to go on dates and get butterflies in my tummy and kiss and hold some one's hand. I don't want to fight over money or time or who said what crap...because remember? I said mine is the movie love! Maybe one day it will find me. Love, that is-not so much the movie. And when it does, I hope I'm not old and jaded and ugly, because I might not be so open to it then. I'm only a little jaded right now. I've tried the whole 'don't expect it' thing because that's when everyone says it happens. But that didn't work. You don't want to read this story over and over and over again, do you? No, me neither.

I could tell you about how Arbonne started off with a *bang* with parties left, right and center...but now everyone is bailing on their parties and I'm dreading even trying to book more. I love, love, love the products, though...my acne is GONE!!! And I'm preventing wrinkles as we speak. It's a miracle!!

This whole blog would be lacking if I didn't tell you that I've found solace in a glass of wine almost every day this week and went shopping on the weekend with my mom after having two beer on an empty stomach. Everything is just so much more fun when you've had two beer. And I'm funnier, too!!

I'm really enjoying "America's Got Talent" right now....are you? We could talk about that, I guess....

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"I believe inPINK. I believe that laughing is the best calorie burner. I believe in kissing, kissing a lot. I believe in being strong when everything seems to be going wrong. I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls. I believe that tomorrow is another day and I believe in MIRACLES" - Audrey Hepburn